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The change happened almost overnight, as it was wont to.
Of course, he didn’t know this was how it worked — from his perspective, there were simply quiet feelings that he kept hidden in a box in his heart one day, and then the next day, that box had been opened. The wrapping paper had been strewn across the floor, and the feelings he had been quietly mulling over were now cradled in her hands as she marveled at them.
It was perhaps a bit too fast, but her companions simply shared knowing looks between them, and he didn’t dare ask. The dynamic between them had changed, and he wasn’t sure why.
No one seemed inclined to help him, either.
She’d been warm before, of course — kind to him, in the delicate sort of way he was used to people being kind, as though they weren’t quite sure what to do with him, or thought he might break if they touched him wrong. He didn’t mind it, though it was perhaps a little lonely, and in any case, she handled it with a little more confidence, as though she was sure of the way, and willing to show it to him.
Unconsciously, he followed her. He was content to follow her, a fire blooming in his chest that he had forgotten could burn. He would have been content to follow her forever, like that, without question, but now she had stopped walking.
Before her, he could see many paths; she had assured him, once, a little tipsy, that there was only one path for her to take — but now he wasn’t sure if that was the case. One night, it had been . . .
. . . And then the next morning, she had worked her way out of bed and into the chill morning air, and things had been different. When their eyes had met, she had looked away, almost shyly. He hadn’t thought about it.
Eating breakfast had been an uncommonly quiet affair. He found he had gotten used to her chatter, specifically — the noise of her companions faded in and out around them, and he didn’t mind it, but he also wouldn’t have missed it if they’d stopped, but her eyes remained downcast.
He thought he’d done something wrong, by that point. When he got up from the table, he collected the other dishes as well, not just his own, and perhaps at that point he thought he was atoning. She was still eating, so he left her plate in her hands, assuming she would go back to being her usual self once he’d left.
She followed him into the kitchen.
She did not say anything. She’d managed a good morning when he’d sat down, and that didn’t seem to be changing any time soon, but she trailed after him now, and he found himself stopping in the doorway to look back — where she immediately froze and looked down, as though caught in the act of doing something wrong.
Experimentally, he took a step forward.
She peaked up at him, but didn’t move. Carefully, he turned, trying not to give away how much attention he was paying towards her — though he’d learned from watching the way she watched everyone else that this was a tricky matter to begin with — and he must have gotten it just right, because she immediately trotted after him, taking two steps for each of his.
Oh no, his brain whispered.
He stopped and turned back; she was staring up at him with a childish kind of awe, as though seeing him for the first time, and she immediately looked down once she caught him staring, skidding to a stop as though she’d been so absorbed in the sight of him that she wasn’t paying attention to what he was doing.
He felt his cheeks heat; the warmth in his chest — the candle lit by her strange, unending confidence — spread up to his face. Her own head was ducked down so securely that he could imagine any expression he wanted, and for a moment he pictured her own face tinged pink, and that made the whole thing worse.
Oh no, his brain cried.
He turned, abruptly hastening to the kitchen and resolving himself not to think about this matter any more. He was an adeptus, and didn’t belong in this world to begin with. She was certainly powerful enough to deal with the energies of this world, but that didn’t mean she was part of it. He wasn’t going to mix things up between their worlds, because that would be a disaster. He was going to just do these dishes, and continue with helping her with her plans on . . . Whatever it was, exactly, she was trying to do, because whatever it was seemed to dovetail with Barbatos and the Traveller’s plans, and that was enough for him to trust her.
And he’d decided, in that moment, his strange trust in her was nothing to do with her, or her actions, because this wasn’t happening.
She followed him into the kitchen, and he had to stop her from throwing her food out, “What are you doing?”
“Breakfast is over?” she asked, tentatively, as though that might have been the right answer.
There was a strange emotion in his chest; it was painful, but he clung to it desperately and didn’t quite know why. It was a dangerous feeling, like being brought back to life after a period of being dead. Like it might change who he was on a fundamental level. He was wary of it, but there was no point in running from what was natural, either.
He looked at her plate, and then back at her, “You can finish eating.”
She looked down at her plate, consideringly. He’d seen her do this with her companions, and for a moment worried that he would need to convince her, but instead she tentatively set her plate on the counter, picked up her chopsticks, and took another bite.
He watched her for a moment longer; it would have been easy to convince himself he was watching her for the sake of ensuring she kept eating, but it wasn’t that. The strange path they’d veered onto simply had more of his attention than he’d expected it too.
But the dishes still needed doing, and he’d set himself on this task, so he’d complete it. There was silence between them as he turned on the sink and began filling it with sudsy water.
“I’m sorry,” she said, suddenly, “I’m being clingy, aren’t I?”
He felt his lips tremble, as though they wanted to smile, but he didn’t quite follow through with it. He didn’t know what to say — but she’d asked for reassurance.
He’d reassured a lot of people, on the field of battle — this wasn’t so different, was it?
“We can’t run from life,” he replied, carefully, “It’s best to accept what we feel in the moment.”
She mulled this over, and he glanced at her from the corner of his eye, before turning off the water. He was vaguely aware of gossip in the other room. Barbatos had awoken, at last, and seemed keen on whatever it was everyone had to say.
Xiao suspected he and Min were being talked about.
This might have been paranoia on his part, though. Or perhaps it was the desire to have someone — anyone — to go to for guidance.
The silence between them now felt a little strained. There were words caught in his throat that he didn’t know how to arrange.
“I . . . hope you slept well,” he managed, at last. Min looked up at him.
“Yes!” she said, quickly, “I did my best!”
He glanced at her, hands going still in the hot water.
It seemed like something had fundamentally shifted between them; there had been a dynamic at play he hadn’t questioned — one where she lead him unerringly forward, and he had followed complacently. In the wake of everything that had happened, he’d needed to keep moving more than he’d needed to know what he was moving towards.
And now, this.
He stopped washing the dishes; the water left soap on his hands, and he rinsed them off quietly; he dried them carefully, to give himself time to think through what he wanted to say, and then, when he had run out of time to think, he set the towel down, turning towards her.
She was moving her food around on her plate rather than eating it, so he only felt a little guilty as he reached out, wrapping his hands around hers. The warmth in his chest spiked, greedily, but he kept his features schooled into a careful mask.
“Lady Min,” he said, “I apologize for not seeing you clearly.”
She looked up at that; a sudden, frantic motion, and he thought she might pull away like a startled rabbit. His hold on her hands was firm, though, quietly insisting on her trust, and she froze instead.
“I don’t — there’s nothing to apologize for!” she said, quickly, and Xiao took a step forward; she didn’t run, though he was suddenly, irrationally afraid she would.
When had she ever run, though?
He leaned down, pressing his forehead against hers, and she closed her eyes; for his own part, he found he suddenly couldn’t really keep his open either. They half closed, like a flinch, and he allowed himself to look away, to the side, where her breakfast was still only half eaten.
Her fingers were warm in his, and he found himself struggling to catch his breath, and hoping she didn’t notice. Now wasn’t the time for anyone to be noticing anything.
At the very least, if she did, he knew she would politely look away until he told her not to.
“I’m sorry,” she said, her voice shaky and delicate, “I’m a mess. I shouldn’t be so clingy.”
“You’re not,” he assured her, “But I haven’t been able to give you what you’ve been giving me. Whether you know it or not, I’ve relied on you a lot.”
“You don’t need to,” she said, and he dared to try glancing at her face; with her eyes closed, at least, he knew she wouldn’t see the way his face was surely flushed. But her expression was unreadable.
“I will,” Xiao replied, firmly, “Because that’s what I want to give you.”
He pulled away, then; her eyelids fluttered open, and he reached up to cup the side of her face — an indulgence he would make only for that moment, “You’re worth protecting. I’ve been relying on you, but I would like our alliance to be an equal one.”
She looked up at him, again, through her lashes, and he had the sense to wonder if she was doing this on purpose, or if she was just a natural at the coy flirtations she insisted she knew nothing about.
It was strange to trust someone so full of lies. He’d done it before, of course, and probably would again, as though by doing so he could learn to tell the same lies with the same convincing tone. She’d fooled him for long enough, at least, that he had to respect her skill in storytelling.
All he had to offer her was the truth, though, and he wasn’t sure if it was an equal exchange. Could she live off of the truth? Or did she subsist entirely on dreams and nonsense?
He let his hand fall from her face, fingers trailing through her long hair, and she looked down. Her cheeks were pink. He wasn’t imagining it at all anymore, and he felt it this time — his lips curving into a smile. He looked away before she could see it.
“I will,” he repeated, “So for now, don’t push yourself too hard. Go eat your breakfast.”
“I can’t eat here?” she asked; she sounded earnest, and he this time, when he gave her a cool stare, he thought he had managed to collect himself enough that she wouldn’t notice what he was feeling.
“No,” he said, “Go say good afternoon to Lord Barbatos. Sit down while you eat.”
He still couldn’t hold her gaze for too long, but she seemed unable to meet his very strongly either, and collected her plate dutifully. Once he knew she wasn’t looking at him anymore, he turned to watch her go.
Only once she had turned the corner of the doorway did he allow himself to run his fingers through his hair, and let out the breath he hadn’t realized he was holding.
Oh no, his brain said, one final time and with a certain amount of feeling. To simultaneously underestimate and overestimate someone was a lapse in judgment he didn’t normally find himself trying to clear up.
Of course, he shouldn’t have been surprised — she was just a mortal, after all. For all that she composed herself like someone much older, she hadn’t seen even a fraction of the time he had.
He’d forgotten how much older than her he was; worse than that, he’d given her the responsibilities he should have held onto.
And yet he couldn’t bring himself to reclaim those responsibilities entirely; removing the trust he’d placed in her hands, because she’d had the gall to return his feelings — not only did that seem unkind, but it was surely the sort of thing he’d regret. Maybe not immediately, but in a month, or the month after. Sooner than he’d expect to, surely.
His face still felt flushed; he wasn’t sure how long he’d been standing there like this, either, wondering what to do to fix the situation, and letting his heart pound in his chest, demanding he do a thousand and one contradictory things, but if he didn’t finish the dishes quickly, someone would be sure to ask the wrong question.
How on earth was he supposed to hide this from everyone else? Glowering, he gave the faucet the iciest glare he could muster; his tiny distorted reflection glared right back at him.
But in the quiet of the empty kitchen, he felt another feeling bloom beneath his skin, one full of light and warmth, and he found his lips curling up in a smile he didn't know how to fight back down.